Page 16 of Howling
It’s only when the shifter steps away that I relax. The fucker passes so close that the wild energy he exudes brushes along my skin like a caress, and I hate how much I don’t dislike it. The only thing preventing me from leaning into him is the disapproving vibe he exudes like breathing.
Not that I blame him.
I am a stranger in his house, after all.
Not to mention, I worked magic in front of him. For shifters outside of Kyperian, that seems to be a big no-no.
Something about having him where I can’t see him sets my teeth on edge. I’m not worried about him attacking. I’ve dealt with shifters like him all my life, and I have the skills to take the jackass in a fight. I learned how to identify the different species at an early age, learned how to take them down fast and efficiently.
Yet his beast is a complete mystery.
I can’t identify it, despite Kyperian being the mythical capital of the world.
How am I supposed to protect myself from something that doesn’t exist?
If that’s not disturbing enough, my wolf is sniffing at his delicious, earthy pine scent like she wants to roll around in it and coat herself with it. He smells of something ancient and dangerous, something that crawled out of the primordial ooze to rule the world.
And, of course, my idiot wolf wants to play with his beast like they’re besties.
After our upbringing, her self-preservation instincts are on a razor’s edge. I don’t believe for a second that he’s not dangerous. I’m not that naïve. Gramps trained me early to see even the most innocent child as a threat.
So why the fuck did I agree to stay for supper?
Pushing aside that unanswerable question, I wink at my savior. “Thanks, Foxy.”
My lips quirk when he fumbles with the spatula, flustered at my flirting. A blush crawls up his neck, which only makes me want to continue teasing the cute fox.
“Put on some clothes,” the asshole mutters, tossing the fox a shirt, adding a glare for good measure. Foxy rolls his eyes but does as he is ordered.
I pout, but I’m easily distracted by the delicious flex of his muscles along his shoulders and back as he covers all the glorious skin. Yum! I don’t realize I’m gawking until a can of beer slams onto the counter right in front of me, and I find the twat of a thundercloud glaring at me for good measure. “Why do you keep calling him that? What game are you trying to play by flirting with him?”
My eyebrows shoot up at his outburst, and I’m annoyed that he’s once again looming over me. At five-nine, I’m not short, butmost shifters are usually massive, including this bastard. He’s six-two or six-three, and doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his frame. I wish I could say his outsides match his insides, but the man is gorgeous, the sharp angles of his face and messy blond hair giving him supermodel vibes. His slate eyes only emphasize that impression.
Even his icy glare is sexy, but I’m not easily swayed by a pretty face.
A good fuck isn’t worth my life.
I’m tempted to reach out and brush my fingers against his hand, curious to discover what creature he holds under his skin, but I can’t take the risk of him sensing anything from me in return. Although part of me is disappointed I don’t have mastery over my abilities, I haven’t exactly had time to practice.
I repress a shudder at the thought of them digging for information about me, and I take my time answering the asshole, smothering a smirk when a muscle ticks in his jaw. I raise a single brow in his direction—something I learned from Gramps that usually makes people feel stupid. “I call him Foxy because we didn’t have time to introduce ourselves when he was getting the crap beaten out of him. I thought it would be better to rescue him first. My bad. Next time, I will interrupt, wait for the introduction, then come to his aid.”
As much as I wanted to continue flirting, it would be best to stop. It’s not like I can follow through with it.
“Fight?” The menacing rasp to his voice does dangerous things to my insides, and I barely repress a shiver. Worse, the shiver isn’t from fear.
Now is not the time to discover my dormant libido!
Annoyed that he’s able to elicit any reaction from my normally dead emotions, I glare at the dicktwat. “You are aware that Foxy endures weekly beatings, right?”
Everything about the asshole stills, then he slowly turns toward Foxy. “Explain.”
The fox shoots me an exasperated look before shrugging and turning his back to the stove. “It’s just Simon and his cronies. It’s nothing.”
“Not nothing,” I counter, nodding to his now healed body. “It’s been going on for months, if the state of his injuries was any indication. If it had continued to happen, I doubt his fox would’ve been strong enough to even shift, much less defend himself.”
“You’ve been getting into fights and not telling us?” The asshole crosses his arms as he confronts the fox. From his glare, it’s obvious he wants to call me a liar.
“Not fights,” I supply helpfully. “He doesn’t fight back. He just takes the beating.”
